


developed dependence

by Anonymous



Category: Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brother/Brother Incest, Coercive Relationship (mentioned), Dark Comedy, Dom/sub Undertones, Extremely Dubious Consent, Grooming, M/M, Sibling Incest, filmed masturbation, the bad kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:14:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21673531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Olmar entertains a visitor.
Relationships: Thorgil/Olmar (Vinland Saga)
Kudos: 8
Collections: Anonymous





	developed dependence

**Author's Note:**

> tweeted about how modern au is just olmar sitting in his private dorm room crying about niichan over a bunch of sad maroon 5 songs he downloaded off limewire, and it turned into this. now @ vincestsaga on twitter for vinland brocon content 👍
> 
> Warnings: Pretty hardcore grooming, mentions of revenge porn, and there’s some gross talk about their parents and Arnheid in this one because Thorgil is sliding further into sociopathy every time I write him

Olmar's digging his heels into the carpet and wondering if he could get Dad to start paying for weed when he hears a knock at the door. It's not the maid's day to come, and it's way too heavy a knock to be her, anyway. He takes his boots off before he tiptoes to the door, a little nervous he's finally cussed somebody out who has the brains to follow him home.

The face he sees through the peephole isn't any of the ones he was fearing. He remembers having to look up more to see it, and he only knows the scars from pictures, but it's a familiar one nonetheless.

"Bro!" He's so excited it takes him a second to remember he has to unlock the door and open it. "Bro!" he says again, a few seconds later.

"In the flesh. I wasn't sure you'd recognize me."

"Are you kidding?" Olmar steps forward, about to hold his arms out, then pulls back and puts his hand out for an awkward shake. Thorgil punches it instead, in his version of a fist bump, and moves forward into the apartment, leaving Olmar to get out of his way. "Mom forwards every picture you send them. She made me show her how to print them out and she puts them all up on this big cork board in the offices." The cork board's so tacky it makes Dad wince every time he walks past.

"I like the posters." Thorgil nods to one of them and grins at him. "KISS. Good taste."

"Oh, yeah," Olmar says, as coolly as he can. "You were into some of these, weren't you?" The posters you see when you walk in are all death metal and shit, in case people ever come over. All but one or two are bands Thorgil used to play on the stereo or have t-shirts of. He tried wearing some of the t-shirts when his brother left for the army, but they were all too big for him. Still are. "I've got a bunch of beer in the fridge. What're you doing here?"

"Don't you read my emails? I'm using my leave time for once."

"Yeah, but I thought you'd just call me or something. You're not going home?"

"Oh, god, not on my first night. Talk about war zones!" Thorgil swings the fridge door nearly off its hinges and leans in, inspecting the selection.

"Oh." Olmar watches his brother grab an entire six-pack, then snap off exactly two extras from the second six-pack in there. "Mom's mega-pissed about something?"

"Yeah, the same something she's always mega-pissed about."

Olmar tries to think what could be number one, out of the hundred things that piss Mom off on a daily basis. "But they took my car away this year. And they got those charges dismissed forever ago, the DA said it was all fine now."

"Olmar. Are you for real?" Thorgil tosses him one of the loose cans and watches him fumble for it, then sighs. "Little Miss piece-of-ass secretary? The one Dad finally got up the nerve to move in?"

"Mrs.... Miss..." He's not even sure which it is. "Ms. Arnheid?! You mean Dad's _sleeping_ with her?!"

"Only since you were in middle school."

"But..." Olmar tries to snap the tab up, his fingers shaking too much for it to look cool. "But... she always had that picture of some guy on her desk. I saw it like every time Dad made me do shit at the office. I think there was even a kid."

"And Dad always had those pictures of us and Mom. It's the best kind of cover." Thorgil gives him a pitying look. "Jesus, Olmar, I hope you at least pay attention to your classes."

"But... I mean, _Dad_?" Olmar shakes his head, disbelieving. "He's so obsessed with all that upstanding morality shit. Isn't that against the work-release thing? Some kind of rule?"

"Who's gonna report him, all the killers and kiddy-touchers he keeps in gainful employment?" Thorgil grabs the can out of Olmar's hands and takes a swig, then grins at him. "Now don't get all sad just ‘cause you found out Mommy and Daddy don't love each other anymore. The world keeps spinning. Things are working out fine for everyone but Mom, and she'll get used to it. And as for the secretary? Fast track to Easy Street."

Olmar reaches for the other loose can Thorgil set on the counter. "I'm not sad. It's not like I thought Mom and Dad were all into each other. I just thought Dad was keeping his secretary around more these days ‘cause he's finally starting to go blind."

"Oh, I think Dad's eyes are working a little _too_ well for his age." Thorgil laughs, and at the same time swats Olmar's hand away, pointing him to the fridge. "Speaking of which," he says as Olmar gives up and opens the fridge again, "where's all your food? You on a hunger strike to get your car back?"

"I just get takeout usually," Olmar says. "I would've had something ready if I knew you'd be here. We can get Thai or something."

"Sounds good to me, little brother." He likes it better when Thorgil says that, instead of _kid_ or his name. It usually means he's in a good mood. "I hope you don't think cooking is for pussies or something, though. It could save your life someday."

"I just don't have the time," Olmar lies. Actually he does think it's for pussies, and boring too.

"Working hard at school, huh? What's got you busy lately?" Thorgil scans the room, as if looking for a pile of textbooks.

Olmar's textbooks are on the floor in the bedroom, where they've been since he bought them brand new at the bookstore he goes into only to buy textbooks. The last time he checked, it was his Buckcherry tee lying on top of them, but the maid might've come since then. He doesn't look at that corner too much.

"Uh, graphic design, I guess." He's been trying to make a really cool spray for TF2. It's not going too badly.

"Now that _is_ for pussies."

"I think it's pretty cool," Olmar says defensively. "You can make shit look like it's covered in blood."

"Oh, yeah. I guess you could do that, these days." His brother's seen the real thing. Of course he wouldn't be impressed. Olmar looks down, embarrassed, and then Thorgil grabs him by the shoulder. "It's fine, Olmar, I'm not gonna rat you out. I don't care if you spend your time on porn and video games. Dad's got plenty of money to throw around." He steers Olmar to the couch. "Now show me some menus and while you get Counter-Strike or whatever set up."

Thorgil's good at Counter-Strike pretty much immediately, and also at Call of Duty when they switch to that, and Olmar's not sure he wants to know if his brother's even played either before. He's always good at this stuff right away, even if it's just punching buttons. The only game he's ever given up on in disgust is Animal Crossing. Olmar wouldn't play it either, after that, and Dad ended up giving it to a housekeeper's kid after a few lectures about taking things for granted.

Olmar wonders suddenly if their dad was fucking the housekeeper, and that's why her kid got the game instead of someone else's. He almost doesn't feel like eating anymore. But the doorbell rings, so he gets up and hands the delivery guy a bill, sees the look on his face, and digs in his pocket for a couple more, mumbling about mistaking the amount. He hates when they get all snooty about driving some food over they didn't even make themselves.

Thorgil slaps his ass when he comes back with the food, and he nearly drops dinner all over the floor. "Ow! God, bro, what the fuck?"

"It's bonding, Olmar. We're having a male bonding moment."

"Oh." His guy on the screen is dead, so it's definitely not a good-job-buddy slap. He never got any of those even back when he was on the football team. Even though Dad sponsored the hell out of every team he was ever on.

Olmar watches enviously as his brother digs into the spiciest thing on the menu without so much as a watery eye. He doesn't know what it is, because Thorgil actually said, ‘The spiciest thing thing on the menu,' and that's what he put on the online form. He checks the receipt and it just says REAL SPICY.

"Nice place you got here," Thorgil says, looking around approvingly.

"Yeah, Dad wanted one in a good neighborhood. The bedroom's not as big as my one back home, though."

"You got my old room when I left, right? Ever bring a girl back there? We might've gotten our business done in the same bed." Thorgil takes a bite of what looks like five peppers at once.

"Uh. A couple times, I guess." He'd spent all of high school trying to be as far from the house as possible when he got laid. He doesn't want to outright disappoint his brother, though. "I think they might've put a new bed in for me? I wasn't really paying attention."

"I bet Dad'll pass it along to Hot Stuff once he thinks it's safe. He'll probably wanna fuck her in his own bed, though. It's always better in your own territory. But I don't have to tell you that, huh?"

"Do we really have to talk about where Dad fucks the secretary?"

"Well, we could try talking about where he fucks Mom, but just between you and me, I think that train's left the station."

Olmar nearly gags on his second beer. "Bro! Come on, this is so nasty!"

"Aw, I'm sorry, kid." Thorgil ruffles his hair. "I'm just so used to guy talk. You're right, I've gotta get back in civilian mode."

"I can take guy talk," Olmar objects. "But you don't really talk like that in the army, do you? All of you?"

"I can talk about this stuff and respect our parents at the same time. It's just how it is when you're an army man. You get hardened. But you don't forget about the things that matter. Honor. Having the power to survive. Family."

"Your country," Olmar offers.

"Oh, well. That too, yeah. Basically it's all about having a sense of humor. Our parents are good people, Olmar. Dad's Viagra dependency aside. That's how he can be so sure _Ms._ secretary is never gonna slap him with a lawsuit. Because if you can only find work with someone who hires ex-cons, you're _not_ good people."

"Um," says Olmar.

His brother laughs. "Little too advanced for you? Never mind, you'll get the joke someday. It's a good one."

"Maybe we should start cleaning up." Olmar looks down at the remains of dinner, not sure he wants to get the joke. But if he ever gets to join the army, he'll probably have to.

"No maid on call, huh?" Thorgil passes him the styrofoam he's been eating out of and cracks another beer.

"You make it sound like I'm spoiled or something," Olmar complains as he tosses the plastic bag holding most of the takeout trash and grabs another beer from the fridge..

"Nothing a few months at war can't fix. You've gotten pretty tall, you know."

"Yeah, I started growing sophomore year." He looks down proudly at himself and wishes he had an excuse to put his boots back on. They make him look even taller. His brother's still eyeing him when he gets back to the couch.

"I figure you could make it through basic training with a build like that. You should see some of the runts they send me. And even they can survive the training part." He laughs again. "If nothing else."

"What's it like?" Olmar opens the beer and tries to remember how many empty cans there were stuffed into the delivery bag. "You know, in action?"

"You know those people who say, 'War is hell'? They're all full of shit. It's heaven on earth, little brother." He punches Olmar on the arm. Gently. Sort of. "Hell is knowing you can only be on one battlefield at a time. I tell you, every second I'm not fighting, I wish I was out there. Sometimes when I'm sleeping."

"Even right now?" _Don't ask that, stupid._

"Oh, yeah." Thorgil gazes into the black screen of the TV, his eyes distant, looking for something that's not there.

Olmar looks down, even though he knew what the answer was going to be.

Thorgil punches him again, even less gently. "Come on, don't be a wuss. I could be missing it a whole lot more with somebody else. Besides, I've got something planned to keep myself busy this leave."

"I know, I know." Olmar rubs his shoulder, trying to look like he's making a show of it and it doesn't really hurt. He does feel a little better, though.

"Mom ever tell you about our little code? They don't let us spill details about operations, officially, but every picture I send of me and the guys, I make sure the number of pals in the frame matches my kill count in our latest engagement. You could probably consider that little office cork board a minor threat to national security."

He tries to picture the cork board. "That many?"

"Sometimes I even have to hold up a few fingers."

Olmar's pretty sure his brother's trying to make him feel better by sharing something, and he grins. "That's cool."

"The coolest." Another clap on the arm.

"I wish I could do that. I don't even like school. Just cuz Dad decided I have to take over for him once he gets tired of working himself to death."

Thorgil doesn't say anything, just sips his beer.

"I bet it's just so he can make sure no one ever changes the stupid company name. I wasn't even trying to graduate high school, you know? But Dad and Mom practically filled my college applications out for me, and of course they all saw Dad's name and were begging to have me. I don't even know why he picked this one. Maybe they gave him the cheapest rate on the wing he's gonna build them." He looks at Thorgil again. "I wish I could get out of here. And be like you."

"Well," Thorgil says casually, "you could always embarrass yourself so bad you've got no choice but to drop out. Of course, if the underage DUI on Main Street didn't do the trick..."

"Nobody got hurt!" Olmar really wishes their parents didn't share so much news from home with his brother. "Everyone gets one or two of those in college. My lawyer said so."

" _Dad's_ lawyer said so."

"Nobody got hurt," Olmar says again.

"Well, yeah, you probably don't want to get to manslaughter levels of embarrassing. I'll tell you what this one guy told me. Army buddy." All of Thorgil's buddies are from the army, but he likes saying it every time. "His girl had to drop out of college, quit her job, move, everything. Of course her family was there for her, but everything else? Big, big changes."

"What did she do?"

"Sucked a couple dicks. More than a couple, actually. And then pissed off her roommate, who checked her phone."

"Oh." Olmar turns a little red. "That ‘revenge porn' thing?"

"That's it. According to my friend, half of us there had probably seen one of her videos. He was trying to make us promise we'd report them or something, if we ever did."

"He wasn't pissed at her?"

"He's the one who filmed them, if you can believe it." Thorgil throws his hands up. "I never really got that guy, to be honest. Look at you, blushing like a schoolgirl."

"I'm not blushing!" Olmar scrubs his face with the crappy paper napkin that came with dinner, trying to pretend it's something on his face. It's so thin Thorgil can probably see right through it. "It's just such a weird thing to hear about. And we don't talk about this kind of shit, usually."

"I left when you were starting high school, little bro. Of course I didn't talk to you about my friends and their porn. What kind of monster do I look like?"

"Well, _that_ friend sounds like kind of a freak." He glances at Thorgil. "No offense."

"It was the most interesting thing about him, actually." Thorgil gazes up at the ceiling, reflecting. "I haven't noticed him around in a while. He must have died or something."

"Oh. Sorry."

"All part of the job. No greater love, et cetera, et cetera." Thorgil turns to look at Olmar again. "So? What do you think of his idea?"

"What idea? Getting a girlfriend who loves giving other guys head?"

"No, dumbass. Revenge-porning yourself."

Olmar's mouth works for a second but nothing comes out.

"You don't have to suck cock if you don't want, but it seems like the fastest way. Leak yourself fucking a girl and you'll just get high-fives." 

"B-but I can't suck _cock_!" He might be able to, actually. He's sure watched enough videos of girls doing it.

It's just. He can't _suck cock_.

"Really? I thought college was all about experimenting these days. Not enough bros around to get just-drunk-enough with?"

"I-I-I, I..." It's true. He doesn't have any friends. "...No." Olmar's not sure why admitting that feels like an escape from the rest of this conversation, but he's glad for the moment of relief. "I've gone out with a couple girls, but everybody here's so, you know. Judge-y. They're all assholes."

"So it doesn't really matter what they think of you," Thorgil says with a shrug. "As long as you tell Mom and Dad you're sooo humiliated you just can't function here anymore. Hell, they might _want_ you to do something that gets you out of the country. Depending how comfortable Dad feels up on his high horse, while he's busy screwing his mistress in our childhood home. Maybe if Mom was a little more like my buddy's girl, they wouldn't be on the—"

Olmar actually prefers the mental image of himself sucking cock. "Of course I don't care what these assholes think," he says quickly. "I want something that'll get me out of here, but doesn't that stuff stay up forever? Like, that's the whole reason it's so bad when someone posts it?"

"You can get it scrubbed pretty fast with enough money and lawyer power. Both of which our family has in spades." Thorgil stretches, and to Olmar it looks like his arms could reach the ceiling. "Anyway, you could take the video and then think it over. No need to post it right away."

It feels like all of his arguments are evaporating. And the stupid beers aren't making it any easier to come up with more. Olmar wishes he could handle his booze like Thorgil. But that's what happens when your brother can bench press a truck, and you can't even bench press one of the tires.

"I don't have anyone whose dick I could suck, though." A flash of inspiration strikes. "And even if I did, he'd be fucked too if I posted the video. No one would do that just so I can drop out of school and join the army."

"You don't need a person in the video, Olmar, just a cock. Plus, you've got someone right here with your best interests in mind." A hand takes Olmar by the chin and turns his head to the left. Thorgil studies his face and runs a thumb over his lips. "I think you'd take to it pretty quickly."

The only sound that comes out is a squeak.

"How much of Dad's money are you spending on chapstick? I mean, I'm glad you're taking care of yourself, but..."

"Wh-what? What? _What?_ "

"I'm saying I'm willing to shoot the video of you sucking cock. My cock, obviously."

"Brothers," Olmar manages to force out. "We're... You're my..."

"I think that goes without saying at this point." He pulls Olmar's head closer and Olmar has to walk his hands forward on the couch to keep from tipping over.

"Isn't that... fucking illegal, though?"

"Only if one of us tells. And I'm sure not planning to." Thorgil touches his lips again. "You know, I take back what I said about the chapstick. I'm about ready for you now just off of these."

There's nothing left to say. Olmar just stares at his brother, with no idea what to do, until there's another tug on his chin and this time he does tip over, right into Thorgil's lap.

"Yes or no, Olmar?"

Olmar finds his nose brushing something his eyes can't make sense of, but he doesn't need to ask what it is. Thorgil's hand is on the back of his neck and it feels friendly. Like it's being careful with him.

"You won't..." He struggles to find what he's even trying to ask. "You won't p-post it without...?"

"On our family's honor, little brother, I would never do something like that to you. You make the final call when you've had time to think." Thorgil gives the back of his neck a reassuring rub. "Are you ready?"

Instead of answering, Olmar moves his face forward a little, trying to see if he can do this without actually looking. He realizes his brother's jeans were already unzipped when he fell.

"Whoa there, tiger." Thorgil presses on his neck. "You're gonna need to be on your knees for this. I have to get your face in the frame, after all. Take your shirt off unless you want it getting stained. I don't always have the best aim."

His brother shoves the coffee table out of the way easily, even though it's gotten sunk into the carpet, and one of the impressions from its feet is right next to Olmar's ankle as he kneels. On his own carpet. He's never seen his couch from this angle. Olmar kneads into the carpeting with his hands and stares down as Thorgil's legs come down around him. Boots still on. He doesn't take those off just because he's in his brother's apartment.

His brother's hand takes his chin again and pulls it up. He holds him there for a few seconds, blinking nervously at the camera. The phone is oddly small in Thorgil's hand. He's not bad at working them, but he's never looked like he's meant to exist in a world with anything electronic. He holds it up with a grin and Olmar tries not to look away. It's as if a painfully bright light is shining into his eyes. 

Then Thorgil's hand is on his ear, pulling him back down, and his lips brush something. Again, he knows exactly what it is. He opens his mouth, knows immediately it's not wide enough, and makes it go as wide as he possibly can. And a cock slides into his mouth. His big brother's cock slides into his mouth.

"Soft little rich boy lips." A hand comes to rest on the top of his head and Olmar's shoulders nearly buckle. "Oh, I knew this was gonna be good. I got your face, don't worry. Just do your work now."

Olmar does his best to put his tongue on the spots that feel good when he touches himself. He's not sure Thorgil's cock is ever going to fit all the way inside, but there's still a lot you can do with the front half. He moves up, trying to get _in_ somehow, putting his hands on the couch so he can get closer to his big brother. Thorgil grabs his left arm, hard. "That's it. Keep 'em right here, no touching yourself. Can you remember that?"

Olmar nods, trying to make the muffled noise sound like an agreement. He just wants that hand back on his head.

"Good boy. You're a natural."

It doesn't feel all that natural, what he's doing, but the smell is safe and the weight that's now back on his head almost makes him want to drop onto the floor so it can press him flat. His head's starting to feel all emptied out.

"They don't teach you how to snap necks right away," Thorgil's voice says from very far away. His thighs lift up so they're at Olmar's ears again, and they squeeze. "It's easy once you get used to it, though."

It's like being inside a warm room made of his big brother. Olmar doesn't care what Thorgil's saying, he just wants him to put the stupid phone down and put another hand on the back of his head too. Get him closed in all the way.

Thorgil laughs for some reason and rubs his head. His hand is almost as warm as his cock in Olmar's mouth. "You're a good kid, Olmar. Earnest. You're gonna get where you need to be." His thighs lower again and Olmar would follow them down if it didn't mean losing the comforting weight on his head. His brother's cock moves a little in tandem with the thighs and he has to change what he's doing with his tongue.

It's nice, being like this. He's not thinking about anything, or worrying. He doesn't have to. Thorgil is taking care of everything. He rocks a little bit against the couch every now and then, but doesn't feel any real need to jerk off. He's fine with this low buzz at the front of his jeans that makes it feel like there's nothing urgent in the world.

When his brother's hand starts to tighten on his head he keeps going, and tries letting it slide to the back of his throat. He chokes a little and for a second he's worrying again, worrying he bit Thorgil's dick—but it slips out of his mouth without a yell or anything. The next second there's something warm and wet on his face, jolting him back to reality.

Olmar looks up, surprised that his brother cums so quietly, and almost at the same moment Thorgil scoops him up by the armpits and flips him onto the couch. His grip is like iron for the second Olmar can even register that he's being touched. There's a warm spot under his socks and he realizes his feet are where Thorgil was sitting. He stares at the ceiling, trying to remember what thinking feels like.

"Don't just lie there throwing that boner away. Next video's gonna be just you, touching yourself."

Olmar blinks in confusion, looking up at Thorgil standing over him. "But... you already did the thing for me, that we said, so I thought we were done."

"Now, what kind of big brother would I be if I came on your face without returning the favor?"

"I don't need you to... You know, we don't have to make it awkward," he finishes lamely.

"Olmar. I can see what's right in front of me. You're like a dog no one ever bothered training. A bad little puppy that starts wagging and piddling when I pat your sad little head. You've been _begging me_ for this."

He tries desperately to think what could've given Thorgil that idea. "I didn't mean to act weird or anything. I was just excited to see you."

"You say that, but it looks like to me like you need some space in here." Thorgil undoes a few notches on Olmar's belt, and Olmar doesn't stop him. Why doesn't he stop him? "Come on, kid. I just blew a load on your face. Don't try playing innocent now." 

"I'm fine," Olmar says weakly. He tries to squeeze his thighs together. "I don't need anything else. We can just go to bed and forget about this. I'll sleep it off. It's not that bad."

"A boy your age shouldn't need much help getting it up. I guess the first time's always a little scary, huh?"

The kisses start on the inside of his forearm, and they move up. Every now and then Thorgil's incisor scrapes him where the lip's missing, and Olmar knows by the time they're at his shoulder that he's going to be jacking off soon. When his brother reaches his mouth it almost burns, and he's afraid this is some kind of special way you get turned on when you're a real freak. Then he remembers the spicy food. He wonders why his skin isn't on fire wherever it got kissed and almost wishes it was.

"Ready now?" Thorgil asks very softly in his ear, and Olmar's hands are already trying to get between his legs. He feels his brother's hand on top of his own for a second. "Oops." Thorgil laughs and pulls away from his face. "We got a little carried away." 

Standing now, his brother finishes unbuckling his belt and unzips his jeans, lifting him easily by the hips to get them pulled all the way off. Olmar groans when they slide over his cock.

"Save that for the camera, kiddo." Thorgil throws the jeans off somewhere and grabs his phone off the floor. Olmar hears his cool skull buckle hit something with a clunk. "There we go. Now you can play porn star all you want."

Olmar doesn't feel like a porn star. He feels like a gross pathetic wreck two seconds from begging his own brother to fuck him. But Thorgil said this one is just gonna be him, and he doesn't know how you could hold a phone and and fuck someone at the same time, anyway. Hands on his cock, he starts touching himself.

"Show your cock off a little more, Olmar." Thorgil's voice isn't forceful like when he gets pissed off. It's not even his regular kind of bossy. He's just suggesting something. Olmar has to do it anyway, and he does it. He moves to an underhand grip and lifts his dick a little so the camera can see it better.

"Good boy. Very innovative."

The satisfaction laced into those words makes a quavering little noise come out of him.

"You wanna tell the audience who's filming this?"

"My... my brother. Is filming this."

"Can we get your name again? I wanna hear it in your voice. Tell us something about yourself."

"Olmar. I'm nineteen. In college." The couch feels weird against his bare skin. It's hard not slipping back into his usual grip, but the new pattern of sensation is kind of paying off.

"And what are you thinking about right now, Olmar, nineteen, in college?"

"My brother." He wants to cover his face but can't bear to stop touching his dick. "I'm thinking about my big brother Thorgil. And how I sucked his cock earlier."

His brother whistles. "That's pretty fucked up, Olmar!"

"I know." He wishes Thorgil was sitting in front of him again, so he could just shove his face between his brother's legs and hide. Instead he brings both hands in front of his cock and rides them a little, pressing up into himself and thinking about that taste on his tongue, and the burn from their kiss. Thorgil lets him think for a while, and doesn't scold him for hiding the view.

If the blowjob was a relief, something that let him be _not him,_ this is a painful reminder of what being _him_ really means. He's red in the face, completely exposed, and even thinking back to the blowjob doesn't get him that feeling back. Olmar keeps thinking about it, his mouth moving a little as he tries to get there instead of here. 

"Is your dick as big as mine is, little bro?"

"No. Sorry." He thinks that might have sounded stupid, but it's getting hard to think, let alone answer questions.

"No need to apologize. It takes all kinds."

Olmar relaxes. It wasn't too bad an answer, then.

"There's nothing to feel guilty about here. Fucked up just makes it hotter sometimes, huh?" There's a grin in Thorgil's voice, and Olmar manages to get his eyes open one last time before he cums. His brother's practically glowing with happiness as he trails the lens up and down Olmar's body. "You think you're gonna suck big brother's cock again? Let me hear what you've got to say."

"I am." The words are a whine coming from the back of Olmar's throat. He thinks that glow might be a dangerous color, but it's his big brother's color, whatever it is, and Thorgil looks almost proud of him. He's going to do anything it takes to feel that hand on his head and see his brother smile like that, over _him_.

This burst of light behind his eyelids is enough to blot out all color, anyway.

* * *

"Wakey-wakey, little brother." Thorgil's sitting on the edge of his bed, right in front of him when he opens his eyes. "You're a heavy sleeper, kid. I thought you'd be up when I got back with the bacon, and you here you give me time to cook _and_ wait." He looks around. "Maroon 5 posters in here, huh? Very _you_."

"They're from a friend," Olmar says. "A girl. Friend." He starts to get out of bed, hoping to get Thorgil out of the room as soon as possible.

"Whoop, not yet. You've gotta blow me first."

He stares at Thorgil for a second, uncomprehending, and then last night hits him like a brick to the face. "Oh fuck. Oh my god."

"I found that in the dresser last night," his brother says, pointing down at him. "Very cute. You keep those to whack off in?"

Olmar looks down and sees he's wearing his brother's old Corpus Mortale shirt. It's too wide on him, just like it was in high school. "I just thought I might grow into—bro, we didn't, right?" He looks back up, pleading. "We didn't really...?" 

"Relax, kiddo. I'm not gonna hold anything against you. It was a fun time all around."

"But..." 

"Nobody got hurt, did they? Of course," Thorgil adds, flashing him a wide grin that's only a little bit scary, "sometimes it's better when you do."

It doesn't seem like the world should still be spinning. "We can't just do this, though. We can't just walk around like everything's normal."

"You need big bro to carry you out to breakfast? After I cleaned your couch, slept on it, and cooked for you?" 

"No! That's not what I mean." His brother is being so terrifyingly normal about this that Olmar can't help feeling like he's being stupid. Is it really this easy to wake up and have breakfast together after breaking—the rules? The law? Everything?

"I mean, I'll do it." Thorgil nudges his shoulder playfully. "It's easy enough. Carried you in here after your little show knocked you out. I'll even make you lunch and dinner if you want."

Olmar looks down and squeezes the bottom of his too-big shirt. He never really stopped thinking of it as his brother's shirt until now. But it pretty much has to be his now that Thorgil actually put it on him. "Okay. I guess."

"You'll have to learn how to cook after this, of course. Gotta make you into a good little wifey for when I'm home on leave. I think I'm gonna be using my days a lot more."

"I can't—I don't wanna be a—"

"You wanna be my doggy, then?" Thorgil's hand ghosts over his head, barely brushing him, and he's instantly hard. "My good little puppy, with your own special collar? Some people like that. Oh, yeah, you like that." He scritches Olmar's head and Olmar realizes he's lifting his chin, pressing desperately into his brother's warm hand. "It'll have you on the floor a lot, though. I'll let you have some time to think it over, how about that?"

"Please don't post those videos," Olmar manages, shakily. "Either of them. Please. I'll die."

To his surprise, Thorgil pulls him in for a hug. They never hug. "Of course not, little bro. I'm a man of my word. They're safe with me."

Olmar hugs back uncertainly, not sure exactly what to do with his arms. Thorgil rubs his back soothingly, then reaches down with the other hand and works his cock until he gasps. "There you go. Ready to give me another taste of that mouth? You can touch yourself all you want this time."

"Yes," he says, already pressing down on his cock with the heel of his palm, his voice feeling as small as the rest of him. "Can you... put your hand back...?"

He can.

"You know, Olmar," his brother says, as he guides his head downwards, "I really think I'm ready to settle down with you. There's just something so endearing about how bad you've always wanted me."


End file.
